


Eyes of the Devil

by PlayingChello



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gaslighting, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vergil has been watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reclaim what is his. And take home a little consolation prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes of the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags if you have any triggers related to domestic abuse or rape/noncon. This is rife with it.
> 
> This started because of a thread I did on Twitter a while back and I had to write some horrible unhealthy Vergil/Nero.
> 
> Also, title from the Seether song of the same name because it resonates with this piece. Give it a listen.

“You won’t be gone long, yeah?” Nero asks, practically hanging off of Dante, not wanting to let him go.

“Couple days at the very most.” Dante strokes Nero’s cheek and leans down to kiss him, “Promise. Try not to get into too much trouble while I’m gone.” He taps Nero’s nose in jest.

“Yeah because it’s me you need to worry about. How about you focus on not cracking a hip out there.” For that comment, Nero is rewarded with a pinch to the side before Dante grins and kisses him again.

After the kiss turns to full blown making out, they finally part. Nero looks up at Dante and brushes hair from his face. “Are you sure I shouldn’t go with you? It’ll go faster with the two of us.”

“I’m sure. I’ve done jobs for this guy before. He knows me, and he’s pretty skittish about new people. It won’t take long, I’ll be back before you know it. Just have Lady come over if you get bored.”

Nero frowns and looks down, muttering a very quiet, “But I can’t fuck Lady.”

“Well, you _could_. But I don’t think either of you would enjoy it all that much.”

Nero makes a face of disgust, “Yeah, she’d probably shoot me.”

Dante grins, one eyebrow raised, “Well, then you might actually enjoy it.”

Nero slaps him, albeit lightly. “Get out of here before I shoot you myself.”

“I like it when you threaten me,” Dante says through a grin. But he gives Nero one more kiss before pulling away, collecting his weapons and his bag. “Be good, kid. I love you.”

There it is. Words that never fail to make Nero melt.The whole of his insides squirm with overwhelming emotion both from himself as well as from Dante through their mateship link. Nero throws his arms around Dante once more, “I love you, too.”

And then he’s gone.

The first couple hours or so are pretty normal, pretty ok. Ner can handle it. He distracts himself with cleaning up the place. But as time wears on, Nero can feel himself beginning to wear thin. His whole body screams for Dante. His blood boils and he _misses_ him.

Nero finds himself lying in their bed with one of Dante’s shirts pressed to his face, breathing him in. It’s odd to him that he should feel so affected. They’ve done jobs apart before, but never this far and never this long.

He considers doing as Dante suggested and calling Lady. She could at least distract him, maybe even feed this _intense_ craving for physical contact. But a stubbornness in him tells him he can get through it. He’ll just lay here a little longer and he’ll be fine.

His only real comfort lies in being able to feel Dante. It’s weak, and it gets weaker until it feels stable, probably when Dante gets to the job. It feels better to know that Dante isn’t hurt, that Nero is missed as much as he misses Dante. And somehow, it lulls him to sleep. With Dante’s scent surrounding him, he sleeps.

A knock at the door wakes him. Nero comes to blearily, curled around Dante’s shirt and one of the pillows. But the insistent knock makes him jump up and rush to at least run a hand through his hair and brush out his vest with his palms before going to face whoever is there.

Nero jogs down to the door while the knocking continues. One more hand through his hair before he mutters a “fuck it” and opens the door to find…

“Dan- you’re- what?” The man looking down at Nero from beyond the threshold _looks_ like Dante. But he’s… not. Same face, but the eyes are different, look at him differently. Same hair, but pushed back instead of hanging freely. Same appearance but different smell.

The man wrinkles his nose slightly but recovers quickly, “You must be Nero, correct?”

Nero blinks, stunned. He even sounds kind of like Dante. But still… different. Colder, he supposes. Finally, Nero realises that he’s been asked a question, “Um, yeah. You are…?”

He scoffs, “Pity, I suppose I should have expected my brother wouldn’t talk about me.”

Brother. That explains the resemblance. And it explains who the man is, because Dante _had_ spoken of his brother, Vergil. Not much, and not enough that Nero knows any more about the man than before beyond his name. But he’s been mentioned.

“Vergil?”

“Ah, so he has told you of me.” He gives a pointed look to Nero, expectant.

Nero almost physically jumps, realising he’s being entirely rude, “Oh, um, Dante isn’t here right now. But… do you want to come in?”

Something flashes in Vergil’s eyes, almost dangerous, somewhat intimidating. But it’s gone so quickly, Nero can’t be sure he didn’t imagine it. Still, he opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing Vergil to step into the shop.

Vergil walks in and looks around the room, evaluating. He huffs a breath every now and then, in what sounds like disapproval. Nero watches him for a bit before breaking what he finds to be a somewhat awkward silence, “Uh, can I get you something to drink?”

He’s met with piercing blue eyes once more as Vergil turns to him, “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Nero sighs, glad he has an excuse to escape from the suddenly awkward atmosphere. He hurries to the kitchen to boil some water and find some tea. He digs around in the cupboard and finds a few stray tea bags. He’s not even sure what kind of tea these are. Looks like it’s black. Probably. Maybe. He tosses the bag in a pot and pours it out into mugs once it’s steeped for a bit.

When he returns to the main shop, Vergil has found himself a seat on the couch. Nero walks over and hands him one of the mugs before dragging over Dante’s desk chair to sit across from him. He watches the other man take a sip of his tea and nearly can’t hold back a giggle when Vergil’s face contorts in something akin to absolute disgust.

After Vergil seems to get used to the tea, Nero takes a sip of his own and asks, “So what brings you here? Dante said you were… gone. Where were you?”

A dark cloud passes over Vergil’s features, but he remains fairly passive, “I was… otherwise engaged.”

Nero doesn’t like the sound of that. Something seems… off about it. He’s definitely hiding something. “You didn’t say why you came.”

Vergil takes a long sip of his tea, silent and pensive. Nero watches him, waiting for his answer. It’s quiet and something feels stagnant.

And all at once it changes.

Vergil doesn’t move. Save maybe a twitch of his wrist he’s completely still, mug to his lips. Yet from around him appear familiar glowing blue projectile swords. Nero doesn’t have time to react, the swords fly into him, sending his chair flying back into the wall and pinning him there. It _hurts_. Nero’s never understood how Dante can be so casual about how frequently he’s been impaled. This is only the second time Nero has had to suffer this and it _hurts_. He can’t think properly, his mind is muddy from the pain and his vision blurry.

He can just make out Vergil’s form as he calmly sets his mug down and stands, casually brushing off his coat. Vergil starts to get clearer in Nero’s vision and it takes him a moment to realise it’s because he’s walking toward him. He stops in front of Nero and appraises him. “I had been expecting more of a fight. I suppose I underestimated your weakness from your _mateship_.” He spits the word out like it’s poisonous.

Nero’s brow furrows. Everything had changed so quickly and he can’t _think_. He feels slow. Broken. The only thing he can really get through his head is Dante. He hopes Dante is alright.

“I’ve been waiting for a long time for this, _Nero_.”

Nero doesn’t like how Vergil says his name. Even through the haze of pain, threatening to make him pass out. He doesn’t like it. It’s sickly sweet. Almost a caress but with a harsh frigidity to it. Nero clenches his fists and-

Oh big mistake.

He finally realises that the swords missed his right arm entirely. He’s pinned securely to the wall by his chest, but his right arm, his Bringer, is completely free hanging at his side. _Big_ mistake.

Nero sags, trying to give off that he’s given up. He needs a moment of surprise to pull this off. He waits, as Vergil scoffs at him, and then he attacks. He pushes his arm forward and throws his Bringer out in a snatch, trying to grab Vergil for a buster. And Vergil _smirks_.

He doesn’t expect Vergil to phase in a weapon, one that looks somewhat like Dante’s Gilgamesh, and meet his snatch with a punch. Vergil’s gauntlet glows brightly as it contacts Nero’s bringer and he can feel a vibration resonate through his entire arm and run down his whole body. It’s an outrageously uncomfortable feeling. It builds until suddenly, there is a loud shattering sound, like glass breaking.

And Nero screams.

It is the most painful thing he has _ever_ felt. It hurts so much that he’s not even sure where it hurts. Everything hurts. He looks down to his arm and finds the blue glow of his Bringer nearly gone, cracks span all of the blue area, and it just looks… sick. He tries to move his fingers and promptly throws up. He hears Vergil make a noise and mutter a “disgusting” before he passes out.

\--

Dante slashes Rebellion down and shoots Ivory behind him, bringing Ebony up in front of him to finish off another demon. Two more step toward him when suddenly he’s slapped with pain in his chest, like needles pressing him back, and pressure on his back. And it’s not physical pain, but mental, a consequence of his link.

_Nero_.

He charges the remaining demons, slashes through them with a rage he rarely feels outside of trigger. He’s holding back, trying to maintain control. Nero’s fine. It’s probably just a demon and he got caught by it, but he can handle himself. He’s fine.

But the way he feels tells him otherwise. He runs back to the man that gave him his contract, quickly tells him something came up, problem’s dealt with, give his money to Lady. And then another wave of pain. This time it nearly brings him down. It radiates from his arm and through his entire body. And it makes him sick. Actually ill.

It’s the fastest he’s ever gotten home from a job. Even from jobs much closer to home. He throws open the door and calls out for his mate.

And he sees the blood.

There’s blood all over the wall and the floor. All over this desk chair. There are mugs, one broken, one sitting forgotten on the coffee table.

And Nero is nowhere to be found.

\--

Vergil carries Nero over his shoulder. It’s late enough that no one is really out and even if they were, it’s not really the part of the city where someone would stop a suspicious person.

He’s spent months watching his brother and this mate of his. He never really intended to do this at first. But as he watched, this _Nero_ fascinated him. He’s ferocious, strong willed, powerful. He can wield Yamato almost as well as Vergil himself. This Nero is an absolute enigma and Vergil wants to dissect him. Plus, it was a good excuse as any to reclaim his blade. He’s missed Yamato since he climbed his way out of Hell and free of Mundus’ torture.

The weight of the sword in his hand feels good. And the weight of Nero on his shoulder feels strangely good as well, despite his bleeding all over Vergil’s coat. That’s a bit bothersome. But they’re almost to their destination, where Vergil can begin studying Nero, taking him apart bit by bit until there’s nothing left of him.

He has plans. So many plans. Things he wants to do to Nero and see how he works, how he ticks, and how much he can take. He wants to see how strong this mateship bond is and if he can break it.

The building he’s found looms before him before too long. He opens the door and immediately turns to go down the stairs to the basement. There’s a mattress down there. Not a good one, but good enough. Vergil lays Nero across it, grabs the sling he had prepared earlier and carefully folds Nero’s very broken Bringer into it, and finally secures a manacle around one of his ankles. He doesn’t like using the manacle, but it will be quite a while before Nero is broken enough to be unable to get away. So he must.

Before leaving the room, Vergil leans down and brushes hair from Nero’s sleeping face. He’s quite beautiful. Vergil can see what Dante sees in him. After a brief moment of just watching him, he steps out and locks the door.

\--

Nero wakes slowly. He’s confused and his entire body hurts. At first, he’s inclined to think that Dante really gave it to him the night before. But then he remembers Dante is away on a job.

And then it all comes back.

Nero struggles and immediately regrets it. All of the pain from the previous evening compounds and has him screaming. He feels trapped. He can’t move his arm, can barely move the rest of him. There’s something cold and hard around his ankle. And it reminds him of his childhood. Of evenings spent cowering in his room willing the door to stay closed. Of avoiding his mother’s rage, but even more so avoiding his stepfather’s attention. He’s sent back to ten years old and grabbing a pair of scissors because it’s all he had.

He lays there for some time, trying to will himself to move. Even just enough so he can assess how fucked up he is. From what he can tell, his chest is healing. Slowly, but healing. But his arm. His arm just hurts. Like hell. He remembers what it looked like right after Vergil shattered it. Dull, sickly, and cracked to hell.

He’s scared to see it now.

Once more, though much more carefully, he tries to move. He can feel something holding his arm still. A sling. Odd, he thinks. His left arm is fairly mobile, so he reaches up to his chest to feel the damage. There are still healing holes littered over his skin and his clothes are fucked. But it’s healing, so at least there’s that.

Nero sighs, resigned to lie here in his agony and-.

Oh.

He realises he has no idea where _here_ is. It isn’t his home, not his and Dante’s bed. It’s cold here. And the walls are dark. There isn’t much light at all, actually. He looks around the room some, as much as he’s able to without moving much. No weapons. No… anything. It’s just bare. Empty.

He sighs and leans his head back, resigned to his captivity at least until he heals. Once he heals, he can fight his way out. He’ll be smarter about it, not go right for a snatch when Vergil is obviously so prepared. He’ll sneak out if he has to. But he’ll get out. He just needs to wait.

\--

It’s something like hours later, or maybe days, Nero isn’t sure, when the door to his cell opens. Because that’s what it is, a cell. Nero isn’t surprised to catch the flash of Vergil’s blue coat come through the doorway as he turns his head away, wincing with the pain of doing it so quickly.

“Ah, I see you’ve awoken.” Vergil muses, but it sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than to Nero. And he’s silent for his remaining visit. What’s really strange to Nero is that all Vergil does is look at his arm and set something down on a bedside table before leaving.

And then he’s alone again.

Nero slowly turns his head back over to see what Vergil left with him. It’s… food. A bowl of what looks like it’s probably some kind of soup. And a glass of water. And it makes Nero realise just how _hungry_ he is. He’s always been a food hoarder. He knows what it feels like to not have food and not be able to eat. He grew up poor and hated by his mother. If they could afford food, it wasn’t often that he’d even be able to eat it because she would first. He got leftovers and what he could steal. Food is precious, and even now, when he has money and Dante and friends that won’t let him starve, he always has a cabinet of food that he never lets deplete. Obsessively.

He’s not sure if Vergil realises that what he’s done is inflict the absolute harshest torture upon him. Nero can’t move, he’s still healing. His chest feels much better, and the holes are now starting to close up and scar. But his arm is still sending constant shocks of pain throughout his entire body. He’s in far too much pain to try to sit up and reach over to the soup. To be able to even handle grabbing the glass of water. He licks his lips, finding his mouth dry and hearing his stomach growl at the scent of the food.

His best choice is to turn away again and try to bury his nose in the pillow to try and mask the scent. And focus on his pain rather than his hunger. But still, he can’t help but have flashbacks to his childhood, running around the dirty streets of Fortuna, trying to steal a bit of bread because he’s so _hungry_. He’s just a kid. He can see the faces of distaste on anyone he passes, the look of judgement. No one likes him or his mama. No free handouts for the poorest kid in town. No crumbs of bread to be shared to a starving child because his mother is a whore and had him out of wedlock. He just wants something to eat. Something to eat and maybe another kid to play with.

A door opening makes him turn his head, scared he’s going to get caught. That’s when he realises he isn’t ten anymore. He’s an adult, twenty, and he’s a captive. To his mate’s twin brother. Said man is who had opened the door to the room. He glances to the table and sees it’s contents untouched. “You haven’t eaten. Do you need help?”

Nero’s stubbornness and defiance demands he not answer, not ask for help. Especially not from the man who broke him and kidnapped him. But the ten-year-old child desperate for any food no matter the consequences demands he accept. He needs to eat that food. It might be all Vergil is willing to give him and he _needs_ it.

So he stays quiet, jaw set, but he still looks at Vergil. And he’s sure there’s a pleading in his eyes. Enough that Vergil seems to see it. That, or he never intended on taking no for an answer. Vergil walks over, steps so soft they nearly aren’t there, and seats himself carefully on the edge of the bed.

First, he takes the glass of water. He places his hand gently behind Nero’s head and tilts it upward. Nero’s first reaction is to flinch away, but he doesn’t have much room to do so and it hurts when he tries, so he simply lets Vergil move him. He doesn’t help, leaving that as his own personal defiance. But he’s grateful, because when the water touches his lips, he drinks greedily. He doesn’t stop until Vergil pulls the glass away and even then he flashes an angry glare at Vergil for taking his water away before he’s finished.

But it’s for good reason, because now Vergil brings a spoonful of soup to his lips and that. _That_. Is bliss. He savours that first bit of soup so completely, relishing in the taste. And then there’s another spoonful at his lips. He’s voracious in his enthusiasm, devouring each spoonful as Vergil gives them to him. When his stomach begins to fill, he doesn’t stop. As long as Vergil keeps offering him food, he keeps eating. Because he doesn’t know when the next meal will come.

At some point, the soup is traded back for the water and Nero goes at it just as harshly. He continues attempting to swallow down water even after he’s finished it all. Vergil pulls back the glass and lets Nero’s head rest back down on the pillow. He stands and collects the dishes before heading out of the room. Before he leaves, he looks back at Nero and he looks almost… kind.

\--

Vergil repeats this every time he brings Nero food. He checks on Nero’s arms and feeds him and leaves him more or less alone. Nero still resents him, resents his position, his captivity. He’s still _angry_. But something… something feels off. Like Vergil is just… keeping him here for no reason. Caring for him. He’s been nothing but kind.

Nero’s arm is feeling a bit better. He still feels physically ill from the pain. The glow is still dull and sickly. It still hurts like _Hell_. But the cracks are fading, and the light is a bit stronger than it was. Vergil tends to it regularly, making sure the sling is sitting right and that Nero is as comfortable as he can be, considering the pain. And his chest is completely healed. He can sit up on his own now, but walking still makes him feel sick. Though Vergil still feeds him, even though he is perfectly capable to do it himself now.

One day, when Vergil comes in to check on Nero’s arm, Nero finally asks something he’s been wondering. “Why are you doing this?”

Vergil tilts his head to the side slightly and responds, “Doing what?”

Nero waves his good hand vaguely, “This. All of it. Taking care of me, feeding me.”

It’s a while before Vergil speaks again, as he seems to get lost in his routine of checking up on Nero’s arm. “Because I care for you, Nero. Isn’t is obvious?”

Nero’s brows furrow in confusion, “Then why did you hurt me, take me captive, put me in this room.”

“I never hurt you, Nero. What are you talking about?” Vergil says it without pause, completely confident, and without a hint of lying.

And Nero doesn’t understand. He remembers it. He remembers Vergil coming into the shop and sticking him full of summoned swords like a goddamn pincushion and shattering his Bringer. Because how else did he end up like this? Bedridden with a broken Bringer. “What the _fuck_? You shot me full of swords and broke my Bringer. You shackled me to the bed. You _kidnapped_ me.”

The expression Vergil gives to him is so utterly calm and _genuine_. “No I didn’t, you must be imagining things. You were never shackled here. This is your home. I’ve never hurt you, Nero. I care about you. I’m helping you.”

Nero can’t believe his ears. He _remembers_ it. But Vergil looks so _sure_. He’s _shackled_ to the bed. He moves his leg just to prove his point and-

There’s nothing there. His ankle is free of iron. He looks to the corner where Vergil had left his clothes before changing him into something else, covered in holes from the summoned swords. But there’s nothing there. The only proof he has of his memory is the broken arm sitting in a sling against his body. His mind reels. What if he’s crazy? What if he’s hallucinating? What if nothing is real?

Suddenly he feels a calm pass over him, something not from him. And he remembers Dante. “What about Dante?”

“What _about_ Dante?”

Nero’s frown increases, confused and angry and frustrated. “He’s my… he’s my mate. I can _feel_ him.”

“You’ve never met him, Nero. Are you feeling alright? I think you should sleep. I’ll be back later with dinner.”

Vergil pulls Nero’s blankets up over him and walks out of the room without another word. He leaves Nero alone with his frustration and his confusion. He _knows_ that he’s right. He knows what he remembers and he knows he’s not crazy. And Dante… He remembers him. He can _feel_ him. He’s in his head, mingling with his emotions. He can remember nights curled up against him, can remember long lovemaking, couch cuddles, jobs together, saving Fortuna. He remembers Dante. His mate. Love of his life.

He falls asleep to the thought of Dante’s fingers in his hair.

\--

As the days stretch on, Vergil gets closer to Nero. He touches him more. Brushes hair from his face, puts a hand on his arm, rests a hand on his leg, steadies himself against him as he feeds him. Nero doesn’t bring up how he ended up there again. He’s too scared. He doesn’t want Vergil to tell him everything he remembers is a lie, that it was all a dream.

Nero isn’t even surprised when Vergil comes in and greets him with a kiss to his cheek. It just feels natural, almost like that’s how it’s always been. He’s resigned. He almost feels like he owes it to Vergil, since he has cared for him so nicely all this time while his arm has been healing.

“Hello, my darling. How are you feeling?”

Has Vergil ever called him that before? Nero can’t recall. He must have. It sounds so natural, so normal, coming from him. And it makes something bubble deep inside him. Nero offers a small smile to Vergil. “Good. I can move my fingers now.”

Vergil’s lips twitch in what Nero has come to know as his brand of smiling. It’s his own way of praising Nero, something Nero has found he craves. “That’s good. Because I want to give you something, a gift for doing so well.”

“A gift?” Nero’s received food, clothes, and care from Vergil. What kind of gift could he give him?

Vergil nods, sitting close to Nero with one hand resting on his thigh and the other by his head. He leans in once more and this time kisses Nero’s lips. It feels… vaguely familiar but so foreign at the same time. It’s confusing and dizzying.

He doesn’t even notice Vergil’s hand move until it’s unzipping his jeans. And that’s when things start to feel… wrong. Not right. This isn’t Dante, not his mate. He doesn’t belong here. This man _hurt_ him.

Nero’s good hand flies to the one reaching into his pants, “No, I don’t- Stop.”

Vergil’s eyes harden. There’s a flash and Nero is utterly terrified. He shrinks back, but keeps his hand on Vergil’s, hoping to stop him.

“It’s not polite to deny a gift, Nero.” The way he says it is dangerous. Low and threatening. There is no room for denying him. Nero doesn’t have a choice. It’s back down or fight and lose. He can’t hope to stand a chance against Vergil with only one good arm and no weapons. When Vergil has every possible upper hand.

So he gives up. His grip on Vergil’s hand slackens and falls away and he relaxes back against the wall. He hardens himself. He knows how this works, it’s familiar. Just close his mind and pretend he’s somewhere else. He’s done is all before.

Except Vergil gives him this grin and whispers a, “Good boy.” And something awakens within Nero that he thought he’d lost. His body lights on a certain fire and he _can’t_ ignore him. Especially not when his hand moves again and finds its way into his underwear.

It feels… good. It’s wrong, and he hates it, but it feels _good_. Vergil’s hands have a certain softness to them, though he’s rough with them. His free hand moves from where he had it leaning against the wall to run up Nero’s shoulder to his cheek, holding his face as he goes in for a kiss. He forces Nero’s lips apart, but Nero is pliant enough by now that it isn’t much of a struggle.

In a moment of sanity, Nero bites down. Vergil recoils with a sharp intake of breath and looks at Nero with another dangerous look. “Oh that wasn’t very nice, darling.” Vergil smirks, but it isn’t a nice look. It’s hard and terrifying. Like he’s gotten what he wants but Nero isn’t going to like it.

That’s when the hand moves and circles his neck. And _squeezes_. It’s not kind, it’s not possessive exactly. It’s harsh, painful, much too hard. It’s almost like Vergil wants him to die, or at least doesn’t care if he does. He quickly finds he can’t draw breath. He struggles desperately, trying to draw oxygen into his lungs. His vision gets blurry and he feels lightheaded.

But he can feel Vergil’s hand on his dick. He can feel the way he’s hard despite his hate. He can feel the pleasure coursing through him. His toes curl as Vergil strokes him in _just_ the right way. He barely feels the mess he makes all over himself. He’s too close to passing out.

Vergil’s hand slackens from his throat and Nero can _finally_ gasp in the precious air he had been missing, moments from passing out. Nero collapses forward, not even caring about his still hurt arm. He needs air. He needs to _breathe_.

Vergil says nothing more. He simply pushes himself away from Nero and walks out of the room.

\--

Nero huddles in on himself afterwards. His everything feels kind of numb. And yet, he’s so _sensitive_. He can hardly move. He didn’t even realise how sensitive he was until long after Vergil left. And he smells like sex. He’s messy and sticky and there’s nothing to clean himself up with. But still he curls in on himself, because even forced to smell himself is better than leaving himself open.

It takes a long time before he calms down and stops being quite so sensitive. It’s about then that Nero realises he’s been crying. Tears stain his face and his eyes are still damp. He furiously rubs at his face, trying to clean it somewhat.

Eventually he falls asleep, curled up in a ball, even more terrified and broken than when he first came here.

When he wakes, Vergil is back. At first, he’s just sitting in the corner of the room, watching him. When he realises Nero has woken, though, he stands and approaches. Nero flinches away from his outstretched hand which makes his lips twitch into a frown before he continues reaching and pet’s Nero’s face.

“You’re quite the mess, darling. You can’t do anything without me, can you?”

Nero stays quiet. He’s scared of Vergil. He doesn’t want to say something wrong. So he says nothing.

Vergil’s thumb runs over Nero’s cheek, just under his eye. “You’ve been crying. Come here, let me clean you up.”

He’s helpless to resist. He just falls limp to Vergil’s touch. There’s nothing he can do with a crippled arm and the intense fear roiling through his entire body. So when Vergil goes to undress him, he just… lets him. Vergil is quiet and clinical through the process. He strips Nero down to naked before leaving the room for a moment. He even leaves the door open, so confident that Nero won’t leave. And he’s right. Because even if he could get up and run, he can’t leave. Vergil will just find him again. He doesn’t even remember how to function without Vergil’s help. His earlier words ring through Nero’s mind, _You can’t do anything without me, can you?_ It’s true. He can’t. He can’t do anything other than cower on this bed without Vergil’s help.

When Vergil comes back, Nero hasn’t moved. He stares down at the captive with something akin to pity. Or maybe revulsion. But to Nero he just looks thoughtful. Finally, he bends down and carefully lifts Nero into his arms.

He carries him out of the room, down a short hall, and into a bathroom. There’s a toilet which Nero has never used and a bathtub which he’s been in a handful of times. It’s the bathtub again where Vergil puts him back down, already starting to fill with water.

Nero used to be embarrassed and hateful of the manner in which he has been forced to relieve himself. He has a bedpan that Vergil cleans regularly. It’s never left to fester, for which Nero is thankful. It’s just another thing on the long list of activities Nero is helpless for without Vergil.

As with the bath. Vergil lets the water fill until it’s just a few inches deep. Enough to get him wet, but not enough to cover him or get to his arm. Once filled, Vergil kneels next to the tub and begins using a sponge to wipe Nero clean. Every now and then he adds more soap or holds Nero steady or directs him to shift so he has easier access. Once in awhile he’ll lean in and kiss Nero’s cheek and praise him for being good.

When Vergil’s sponge starts going lower though, Nero reacts violently. He flinches hard, sloshing water and jostling his arm. It hurts, but something inside of him tells him it’s worth it.

Vergil pulls back and looks at him hard, “I need to clean all of you, Nero. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t- you- you _raped_ me.” He says the last part so quietly he’s not sure Vergil hears. And he doesn’t really want him to. It’s going to get him in trouble.

But by the way Vergil’s eyes narrow, he’s not going to escape consequence. “That is a dirty lie, Nero. And not at all a kind thing to say.”

But now Nero has made his bed, so he’s going to get the truth, “I said _no_. But you still…”

Vergil takes up the conversation when Nero’s voice trails off, unable to continue, “I gave you a gift and you _wanted_ it. Do _not_ say such lies of me, Nero. I let you come out of the kindness of my heart, gave you a gift. I would never hurt you.”

Nero sags. He liked it. He can’t even deny that, Vergil is washing the evidence of that away as they speak. He said no, but maybe he was just… unsure. But Vergil knew and gave him what he wanted. Vergil knows him better than he knows himself. It mulls in his mind a moment while Vergil watches him, still and understanding despite his grave mistake. “I- I’m sorry. You’re right.” His entire body feels a little lighter. It’s nice to have Vergil to tell him what’s right. So he doesn’t have to stress over it. And he’s so understanding.

After Nero’s admission, Vergil finishes cleaning him. He maintains his clinical about it all the way until he drains the water and towels Nero down. He carries him back to the bedroom as before, but sits Nero up on the edge of the bed. “I want to see if you can walk without getting sick. If you can, I’ll give you a reward.”

He lights up at that. Vergil really is wonderful to him. So Nero pushes himself up with his good hand, trying to stand. He wobbles at first, but Vergil is there to steady him. Nero leans against him for a moment before taking a step. Standing feels weird. Like he shouldn’t be doing it. And his arm aches the whole time. But he doesn’t feel sick, not like he used to.

He takes another step. And another. Until he’s standing entirely on his own, without Vergil steadying him. “How do you feel?”

“Good, I feel… good. Arm hurts a little, but I don’t feel sick.”

“Very good.” He steps back up to Nero’s side and grabs his hand. “Then let me show you your reward.” Vergil leads Nero out of the room. It’s slow going, as Nero is only just remembering how to walk. And he needs help getting up the stairs when Vergil leads him up them. And again on the next set. But eventually, Nero is lead into another bedroom. There’s a window with daylight filtering in through blinds, a big bed with plush pillows and thick blankets, a bureau of what appears to be expensive wood. It’s homey and warm and pleasant.

Nero looks at Vergil, “What-?”

“It’s our bedroom, Nero. Now that you’re feeling better, you can sleep here. With me.”

It’s like an instant warmth spreads through his entire body. He takes a few steps forward and touches the bed sheets. They’re soft and they feel nicer than the ones from the other room. He looks back at Vergil with an almost puppyish expression, “Can I…?”

Vergil nods and Nero seats himself on the bed. He struggles, and before he can ask, Vergil is there, helping him to lay down. The bed is too big for him, too much empty space. It feels too open and vulnerable. So he looks up at Vergil with a pleading expression, silently asking. And he’s elated when Vergil slides onto the bed next to him. It feels better this way. Like home.

Nero curls up against Vergil instinctually. And Vergil’s arms wrap around him and he whispers against his hair, “There’s my good boy.”

\--

For weeks, Nero gets getter. His arm heals more, he can use it, more or less, once more. He can move freely about the house, though he still doesn’t very much. He finds it’s better to just stay in their room and let Vergil take care of him. He’s helpless in most things. Vergil still feeds him, still bathes him. He can go to the bathroom himself now, at least.

And Vergil… satisfies him sexually.

Nearly every night, Vergil will get him off then clean him up. He’s rough and harsh and keeps a heavy hand around his throat. Sometimes he’ll grind up against Nero’s thigh, but for the most part, Vergil doesn’t ask for anything in return. He exhausts Nero each time, cleans him up, then falls asleep with his arms around him.

Until one day.

Vergil wakes Nero up with kisses and nips to his neck. Nero isn’t sure he’s ever been like this. He always comes at night and always gets right to business. He doesn’t wake Nero with kisses like this.

It’s nice.

Nero hums sleepily, turning a bit toward Vergil and opening his eyes. “‘S early,” he mutters sleepily. Vergil doesn’t respond, instead biting harshly into Nero’s collarbone. He yelps from the pain and Vergil hums in response, seemingly content. Nero does as he’s become accustomed to during these times and relaxes. Vergil will tell him what to do and make him feel good.

Vergil’s hand sliding down Nero’s bare chest and into his sweats is normal. Fingers traveling over his skin and sending shocks through him is something he’s gotten totally used to. Chilly fingers wrapping around him make him draw a sharp breath and gasp lightly.

But he isn’t ready for the hand to keep going. For his sweats and boxers to be entirely shed and for Vergil to fold him nearly in half. And for his fingers to tease his entrance with a lecherous grin on Vergil’s face.

“Wha-” Nero tries to ask but Vergil leans forward and captures his lips in a kiss, halting his question. It’s not gentle, not kind. It’s harsh and insistent. All encapsulating. Vergil is very good at completely taking over Nero’s mind and leaving him nothing to think about but the pleasure he gives and his scent.

Nero’s head is thrown back with a cry as Vergil inserts two dry fingers into him. It _hurts_. Burns and makes Nero squirm, trying to ease the feeling. He wants to get away from it but Vergil has him held fast and hard in place. He makes a sound, crying out with pain, but Vergil doesn’t listen. He stretches him open haphazardly, without care or finesse. Somewhere deep in Nero’s subconscious he feels something odd. Like there’s something not right about this.

But then Vergil adds another finger and Nero nearly blacks out. He can’t think with the intense burning spreading up his lower back. Everything is pain and Vergil’s mouth on his neck, leaving painful bites and dark bruises across his skin. Fingers thrust in and out of him with abandon while he keens and cries out.

Finally, Vergil pulls away. Nero feels empty, but grateful that the pain is over. He’s left to lay limp on the bed while Vergil pushes off, only to return moments later, completely naked. It’s the first time Nero has seen that. But, still, it feels familiar. Like he has seen him like this before.

Nero tries to protest weakly, something deep within him crying out that something is wrong. That this is different and not right. But Vergil quickly pins him to the bed, squeezing down on his Bringer and causing him to whimper. “Ah ah, my darling. You _owe_ me this, after all I’ve done for you,” he whispers against his ear before biting at his lobe with a sharp nip. When he pulls back, Nero notices his mouth is stained just a bit red and assumes he must have drawn blood when he bit his ear.

He tries not to struggle too much as Vergil pushes into him. Tries, but fails on some level, nearly screaming from the burn. He wants to be good for Vergil, and he’s right. Nero does owe Vergil, owes him for all the weeks of pleasure Vergil has given him without ever asking for anything in return. Nero feels suddenly very selfish for not even offering to return the favour.

So he takes it, takes the harsh thrusting and the pain radiating throughout his body. As usual, one of Vergil’s hands finds its way to Nero’s throat while the other steadies him. Nero can feel himself building despite how painful the entire experience has been. He gives a halfhearted attempt to beg, to tell Vergil he’s close. But he doesn’t really get the chance, because next thing he knows, he tastes copper as Vergil kisses him, mouth still tasting of blood.

Without warning, Vergil bites down on Nero’s tongue painfully hard. He can taste his mouth fill with even more blood and Vergil gives one final, painful thrust deep into him.

The pain that follows is worse even than the breaking of his Bringer.

It’s a similar type of pain. A shattering. But it feels like his _soul_ is shattering. He tries to scream but he has no idea if he does. He can’t hear, it’s like there’s blood rushing in his ears. He’s not aware of anything around him except that everything hurts. Far more than he ever thought was possible. He _writhes_. It’s worse than awakening his trigger, worse than breaking his Bringer, worse than anything.

Eventually, he passes out.

\--

The first thing Nero is aware of as he wakes is a soreness. A soreness everywhere, equally covering every muscle in his body. The next thing is a deep yearning. A _need_. He cries out, voice raw and unused. He vaguely wonders how long he’s been sleeping, but the powerful longing he feels physically taking over is a much more present thought.

He doesn’t recognise the room he’s in. It’s familiar but he can’t place it and it doesn’t matter because he _longs_. Once more, he cries out in what could be pain. This yearning hurts.

It seems like hours, but it can only be a few moments later, the door opens. And suddenly the world seems to make sense again. In the doorway stands Vergil. Nero reaches for him, not even caring about his soreness. He reaches out and Vergil walks toward him with his tiny upturned lips and pulls him into his arms.

Nero melts. He buries himself into Vergil’s chest and _inhales_. He smells so fucking _good_. Nero clings to him, practically scratching him, trying to draw him closer. Vergil simply holds him, petting his hair and humming to him.

“Wh-what’s wrong with me?”

Vergil shushes him and kisses his hair and his face, “You’ll get used to it. We’re mated now, just like you’ve always wanted.”

It makes sense. That’s why Nero’s suddenly so needy for him, why he smells so good. He doesn’t really recall wanting to be mated, but he must have. Vergil wouldn’t lie to him. So he just sinks into his hold.

And realises he’s painfully hard.

He makes a sound and it’s so pathetic, so needy. His head turns so he can look up at Vergil, “I- Vergil… Please… please fuck me.”

Vergil smirks. It’s predatory and _mean_. He shakes his head, “I don’t think I’m much in the mood at the moment.”

Nero _whines_. He doesn’t even want to move from the discomfort of his hardon. He just wants relief. But he knows he can’t do it himself, never could. He can’t do anything without Vergil. “Plea-”

Vergil hits him.

Open palm against the side of his face, _hard_. Nero’s so shocked that he just sits there and stares back at him. Vergil fixes him with a dangerous stare, “Do _not_ backtalk me.”

Nero can feel tears pool in his eyes. He doesn’t like disappointing Vergil. But Vergil’s right, he shouldn’t ask so much of him. He already does so much for Nero. Takes care of him. It isn’t fair of Nero to ask even more of the man.

“I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t... “ he hangs his head, trying to reconcile. “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

Vergil puts both hands on either side of Nero’s face, “You’re right, you shouldn’t. But out of the goodness of my heart, I will forgive you. I do love you, darling. You know that, right?”

Nero practically sobs when Vergil says he’ll forgive him. He collapses against him, letting himself be held, “I know. I love you, too. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Vergil’s arms wrap around the younger boy, hands moving to pet at his hair. Nero clings to him, tears falling as he cries his regret at hurting Vergil. At asking more of him than he really had a right to.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He keeps sobbing, choking out the words on repeat like a broken record.

He isn’t shushed, he isn’t told it’s going to be alright, he isn’t told it isn’t his fault. Because none of these are really true. He’s committed the worse offense he can think of. He deserves so much more punishment. But Vergil is kind and loving. He forgave so easily.

Nero is so lucky to have him.

\--

Dante has never stopped searching.

It’s been _years_ since he came back that day to Nero simply being _gone_. He could _feel_ him. Feel him hurting and hating and _breaking_.

And then he felt pain like he’s never known.

And then nothing.

Years since Dante’s connection to Nero was severed. He doesn’t even know if he’s alive. Mating connections don’t just _break_. It usually takes something pretty extreme to break them. Extreme like death. Nero could be _dead_ somewhere. Alone.

But Dante can’t believe it. So he’s been searching. Lady and Trish helped for a while, but the longer he went on, the more they pulled back. They tried to tell him to start preparing for the possibility that he’ll never find him, that he really is gone. But he _can’t_. Something in him tells him that he’s out there and Dante will do his _damnedest_ to find him.

He takes more jobs just in the hope that he’ll find Nero. He leaves notes all over the shop in case Nero wanders in while he’s out. He constantly leaves and just walks around, trying to find him. He searches in alleys and the parts of the city a body would be commonplace. Even though he doesn’t want to think about it, he can’t deny the possibility. And finding a body is better than finding nothing at all. It’s better than not knowing.

Dante takes to carrying Blue Rose with him. He keeps Red Queen at home, never really got the hang of using her engine anyway. But Yamato… Yamato is missing. Nero is gone and so is Yamato. Dante tries to see that as a plus, that at least Nero has a weapon. But his brain likes to remind him that whoever was the cause of all that blood probably took her. Even if he can’t find Nero, he has to find Yamato. Can’t risk the Gates of Hell being opened again.

\--

It’s Saturday, and Dante figures he should just sleep today. He’s been out every day, searching, working, with no results. So he figures it’s about time for a day where he just hangs out and sleeps and eats. He drags himself downstairs to the fridge to search for something he can eat.

Nothing.

Nero always kept the fridge full.

Dante sighs. He’s _tired_. Tired of searching, tired of missing Nero. And _god_ he misses him. Misses waking up to his body pressed up against him or the smell of him making breakfast. Misses the way his anger could get the best of him. Misses his passion.

He sighs again before pushing the fridge shut and turning around. Out to the store it is, then. He tosses on his coat and heads out. It’s a short walk, and one he’s made several times. He drags his feet on the way there, looking down. It’s hard to convince himself to keep going through the motions when Nero is still missing. Years later.

He doesn’t pick up his head until he walks into the store, and even then only to look at the shelves of interest. Frozen pizza, check. He walks toward the register, checking his pockets for cash, and glances around briefly.

The pizza drops to the floor, completely forgotten. He can’t believe it. Right there, right in front of him. He’s…

“Nero?”

\--

Nero hears his name and turns to find- What? The man before him looks like Vergil. But different. He’s wearing a long red coat and there’s a frozen pizza on the floor that he must have dropped. There’s something tugging at the back of his head but he can’t place it so he ignores it.

“How-? Who are you?”

The man before him has so many emotions on his face, first disbelief, then elation, and then crushing sadness. It makes Nero sad to see the way his face falls.

“Nero, it’s me. It’s me, Dante. You- we- where have you _been_?”

Dante? Vergil’s brother’s name is Dante. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person. The only Dante I know of is my mate’s brother and I’ve never met him.”

Dante’s eyes widen dramatically and then his brows furrow in something that looks like a dangerous anger. He really does look like Vergil. Maybe this is his brother.

“Nero, baby boy. Please come home. I miss you, kid. I thought you were _dead_.”

Nero’s brows furrow in frustration. He doesn’t understand. He’s confused. He doesn’t know this man. And he doesn’t know what to do. Not without Vergil at his side, there to help him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dante steps forward and reaches out to Nero and he flinches. Violently. He pulls back and lashes out with his Bringer, trying to stop the man’s advance. Dante simply stops. Gives up the moment Nero shows resistance with wide sad eyes wet with unshed tears. “Oh Nero. Nero, we- we’re mates, baby. I love you. Don’t you remember me?”

Again, Nero furrows his brows. His Bringer tightens his grip on the man and they’re starting to attract a crowd. “I don’t know who you are! My mate is Vergil!” His head feels thick and heavy and nothing is making sense. He shakes his head to try to clear the feeling.

And Dante doesn’t even fight him. He just lets him attack him and stands there, slack and with the most pained expression. “Nero…” It’s so quiet and _sad_ and it hurts Nero’s heart to hear. It slackens him and makes him drop his Bringer and release the other man.

“I have to get home, leave me alone.”

He turns before he can looks at that face again and simply leaves.

\--

Dante is dazed.

That was- that was Nero. He was there. Right in front of him. There he was.

And he was _wrong_.

_Vergil_.

The first thing Dante does when he head clears enough to do anything is run off in the direction Nero went to tail him. The next thing he does is call the girls. They’ll want to know. They’ll want to help.

He has to get him back.

\--

Nero doesn’t tell Vergil about his encounter at the grocery store. He’ll be punished for talking to someone and Nero can’t even be sure it was real in the first place. He’s prone to wild hallucinations. It’s good Vergil can be there to tell him what is reality.

Life is pretty normal for a while after that. Vergil takes care of him like he always has.

Until there’s a knock at the door.

Vergil answers, telling Nero to stay put. And Nero is nothing if not obedient. He sits on the bed awaiting Vergil’s return.

Except he doesn’t return.

He waits. And waits.

And waits.

And Vergil doesn’t return.

A few hours pass and Nero finds himself getting hungry. But Vergil told him to stay put and it’s not like he can do anything on his own anyway. So he stays, rocking back and forth and trying not to focus on his growling stomach.

Suddenly, Nero is knocked back with pain. Incredible pain. It reminds him of the pain he felt when Vergil mated him. Soul shattering and utterly crippling. He writhes on the bed, screaming until he can’t and continuing to try anyway. It takes forever for him to pass out, forever in which he spends time suffering in excruciating agony.

And then finally unconsciousness takes him.

\--

Nero blinks slowly and everything hurts. But there’s a warm presence at his back and it feels safe and comfortable. He leans back into it and closes his eyes once more. “Mmm… Vergil…”

\--

Dante mourns at the way Nero thinks he’s Vergil, but he’s hurt and out of it. So he simply runs his fingers through his hair as he falls asleep once more. He tries to keep him comfortable, knowing all too well what it feels like to have a mateship broken. He’s _enraged_ by the horror his brother has committed. By the way Nero has been completely broken. Defeated. This isn’t the same stubborn, strong willed person Dante mated. He’s a broken shell, almost nothing left after Vergil’s years of abuse.

It’s going to take a lot to bring him back.

Lady tried to tell him it’s going to be hard. She tried to tell him that he’s going to be confused and it will take time to bring his mind back. To remind him of what they were and what he hopes they can be again.

But Dante doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how long it will take. He will do _anything_ for Nero. He’s the love of his goddamn life. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t go through, to bring Nero back to him. To be able to hold him and kiss him freely once more.

He’s going to have to ask him to mate him again.

But not now. Nero needs to remember who he is. He needs to get that fire back. He needs to remember that he is his own person.

Dante looks down at Nero again, fingers running through his hair still. He turns his head just enough to lay a soft kiss on the top of his head.

_Come home to me, baby boy. I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello).


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